STACIE

The house was usually quiet by midnight, but Friday nights were the exception.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, while the muffled sounds of laughter and the clinking of glass bottles drifted through the wall.

My stepbrother, Ace, was home with the gang—his two best friends, Ethan and Cole.

It was their weekly ritual: beer, video games, and enough ego-driven storytelling about their week's conquest, long and detailed enough to fill a library.

I tossed and turned, pulling my pillow over my ears, but it was useless. They weren't just being loud; they were being graphic.

They were talking about girls—specifically, what they did to them and...